


Thought Process

by Castiel_Left_His_Mark_On_Me



Series: Destiel/ Cockles Shorts [8]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Destiel - Freeform, Friendship/Love, Help, Implied Relationships, M/M, POV Dean Winchester, Pain, Poetry, Self-Acceptance, Self-Hatred
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-31
Updated: 2015-01-31
Packaged: 2018-03-09 19:52:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3262325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Castiel_Left_His_Mark_On_Me/pseuds/Castiel_Left_His_Mark_On_Me
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A poem inspired by Dean's longing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thought Process

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on Tumblr: castiel-left-his-mark-on-me. Please take a look at my other works as well ... many more feels, hottness and angst!

[Link to audio of this poem. Open in a new tab and listen while you read.](http://castiel-left-his-mark-on-me.tumblr.com/post/110230666156/castiel-left-his-mark-on-me-im-pretty-self)

  


And I just don’t get it, how every thought turns to _you_. I worry— _why_? You’re stronger than me, than I am, than I’ll ever be. Why waste the time? But you’re _you_. You’re everything that comes with being that thing, that being, that heavenly hell, that mess of mistakes, that whirlwind of good timing, of absent minded hilarity—you’re you, and I’m me … so, why? Why do I see an invitation to death on the daily and instead of the fear for myself, for the world, for family, do I always curl around the same half-thought, more _feeling_ , more constant ache, unblinking, wild, persistent faith that is and always will ever be, _you?_

 

 _Why_? I don’t get it …

 

How you can turn to me, and see something _worth_ something, worth more than the door in which to shut in my face, to lock and hold in place, _no_ —instead you hold out your hand and shatter it to splinters to free me— _me!_ The thing that shredded your wings, the thing that is less _thing,_ more _disgusting_ , more _untrusting_ , more and more _less_ with each day that passes, yet … _you_ _turn_ , and you speak, and you lay your hand on my cheek and you _heal_ … and I feel, and _every_ curse—you break, and … I just don’t get it.

 

Because you’re _you_.

 

And I’m the error, you’re the _pure_ and I’m the terror. We see eye to eye on nothing, yet _everything_ , with the rings around them—a pristine blue, alongside the dark—depressing horror of which my eyes lead, to a soul, not even deserving of that name because it dismisses blame and circumstance with _innocence_ and chance … and mine is too far gone, and you’ve seen that, yet … you _stay_. And I’ve tried, to show you, to push you, to display your mistake, your misconception that I am worthy, of the heaven, the peace that is in your words, in your hold, in your unwavering faith in _me_. I don’t deserve it ... I don’t get it.

 

But you’re _you._

 

You’ll never leave. You’re stronger than me. I know that—have known, will know, for the rest of my days, because you’re you. You fell – _for_ _me_. And I will rise above all this, overcome all this, be better, be worthy, put myself back together, and pick up every feather, laying them back across your spine, with steady fingers and a sincere smile, even if our skin, is torn, thin, greyed, I _will_ stay … because _you’ll_ have stayed …

 

because I’m _me_

 

and you’re _you_.

 

 


End file.
